


These Northern Lights

by karmascars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Orgasm, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aurora Borealis, Blow Jobs, Castiel's idea of Christmas presents doesn't quite match up with Dean's, Christmas, Kisses in the Cold, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Castiel tries to give Dean what he thinks Dean wants, and the one time Dean actually shows him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Northern Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mistress_Whimsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_Whimsy/gifts).



> I didn't fill the prompt right, but this was still meant to be a gift.

When Dean woke the morning of December 24th, the Connecticut countryside was completely covered in snow. The sleepy little town they'd saved lay mostly unaware beneath a sparkling blanket of white, only a few of the townsfolk allowing themselves to be coaxed awake by the pale yellow sunlight.

The curtains were rough against Dean's fingers, and the glare off the snow was worse on his eyes. He regarded his snowed-in baby balefully through the window, the glass radiating cold against his face. Helplessness accompanied the sweep of his eyes over her frame. There were at least nine inches of snow on the ground -- no one in Franklin, CT was going anywhere.

Sam had spent the night with his very grateful to be alive new girlfriend, Tiffany -- Tammy? Theresa? -- so Dean faced a damp-smelling shitty motel room all by his lonesome.

Well, at least until a very familiar flapping of wings heralded someone's arrival.

The sound was mimicked by a fluttering in Dean's chest, one he massaged unconsciously with the heel of one hand on his pec as he grinned at Castiel. 

"Good morning, angel."

Cas tilted his head a fraction. He still hadn't quite internalized the full gamut of nuances to be found in a human's vocal tone, and didn't understand that Dean was saying the word flirtatiously. Which was fine, because Dean wasn't flirting, he was just being friendly. Really.

The angel settled on squinting and nodding, once, severely. "You and Sam appear to be trapped in this town."

"Yeah, looks like Mother Nature wanted Sammy to get some." Dean shrugged. "There's gotta be something I can find to take my mind off it, too, while we're stuck here." He cast about the room, half a mind to make an example, but another thought cut him short. "I don't even know where he is."

"I could simply transport --"

"Nah," said Dean easily, waving the suggestion off before it was fully formed. "Let Sam have his vacation. Kid never did care for the hunting life." Old familiar guilt, as involuntary a response as breathing, and Dean stuffed it down inside.

Castiel, head cocked, considered his excuse. "Very well," the angel said at last, "then what are you going to do?"

"Uh..." Dean hadn't yet given it any thought. He countered cleverly with, "What are _you_ going to do?"

Smooth.

"I do not have any goals for this period of time," Castiel said gravely. He said everything gravely. Dude needed to lighten up. Dean needed something to do with his hands, so he stepped in close and undid Castiel's backwards tie, with the intent to re-tie it.

He almost missed Castiel's hitch of breath as he did.

Dean eyed the angel, who swayed slightly as he tugged and worked the knot loose. Castiel's eyes were focused somewhere over his left shoulder. "Psst, earth to Cas," he whispered playfully, and Castiel's eyes snapped to his unerringly. Dean smiled, finding all the flecks of silver-tinged sapphire and aged cerulean hidden within those pools of storm-sky blue. "What do you want to do?"

There was no mistaking the moment the full ramifications of that question slammed home, those eyes widening, clouding slightly as Castiel realized he really could do _anything_. With the Apocalypse averted, everyone safe, Cas was free to take some personal time. His first vacation in millennia; probably, Dean reasoned, in ever.

"I... don't know," Castiel mused, swaying from Dean's grasp and actually pacing a few steps. "There is... so much." He sounded entirely too overwhelmed to be standing in the town's only motel. In a town whose populace only numbered 2k.

Dean waved his arm expansively. "Dude, I dunno if you noticed, but there's a whole lot of nothing out --"

"Dean." The angel's eyes when he turned back to him were shining. Castiel'd had an epiphany. "We have the whole of this planet."

He actually smiled, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, as he softly, reverentially added: "The whole of this _universe_."

It was Dean's turn to gape, staring a little off target as his imagination took over. As he soared over potential mountains and planets, though, a part of the angel's sentence kept niggling at him.

It finally whacked him on the head. "Wait, we?" Dean scritched at his scalp. "Don't you want some quality alone time?"

Castiel's head tilt was far more pronounced this time, owl-like. "Why would I do these things by myself, when I could do them with you?"

Dean's upstairs brain was screaming _TILT_ and his downstairs brain was waking up, despite his frantic insistence that there was _nothing going on, damnit_. Ugh, this was stupid. If he'd just taken care of himself last night instead of drinking the last of their medical vodka...

He offered up his best sheepish smile, belying his inappropriate thoughts. "Because even angels need to recharge," he ventured, "and I'm as draining on your batteries as the next loser?"

"Dean," said Castiel scornfully, "you are the one being most worthy of my time and energy."

Dean had to grin at that, just a little flip of his lips. "Well, okay," he said. 

The angel appeared to be thinking, not so much studying the wall as staring through it. _Probably figuring out which rainforest grows the best bananas so we can go pick some_ , Dean thought. Then, _I wonder if he knows if there are space bananas out there somewhere_. And, _It might be nice to go somewhere new_. He lifted an arm surreptitiously to smell himself, and decided that while a shower wasn't necessary, deodorant and a clean shirt were.

He padded across the room toward his duffel, and whipped the tee he'd slept in over his head without another thought.

Suddenly, he could _feel_ Castiel's gaze tracing the muscles of his back, a brand across his skin. He kept moving, senses ablaze, every instinct he had screaming that there was something powerful behind him and _it knew he was there_. Dean bent over his duffel, and pulled out the first shirt he could find. He heaved a sigh of relief when the soft catch of white cotton over his skin dampened his fight-not-flight instinct somewhat.

When he turned around, though, Castiel was frozen in place and staring at him with a really intense expression. Dean recovered quickly, but it had been a long-ass time since Cas had looked at him like that. Like a predator, examining prey that it hasn't quite gauged to be a threat, or food -- still prey, though, and Dean felt it. He always had. Used to make him angry, made him lash out, but now? He felt a seizing along his spine, a twitch with origins he wasn't sure he should investigate just yet.

"So," Dean broke the silence, but it came out weak. He coughed and tried again. "So, have anywhere in mind?"

Castiel blinked, and the predatory look was gone from his eyes. They were just that wide blue again; good ol' Cas. "Several places, in fact," he said, "but I have already been to them all. Is there -- can you show me where you would like to go?"

"Sure," Dean replied. "Uhh -- how?"

"Like this," Castiel said softly, raising two fingers. Dean ducked out of habit -- right into Castiel's other two. The angel's expression didn't change, but Dean still read triumph there. "Visualize the place," Castiel said.

For shits and giggles, Dean brought to mind the event horizon of a black hole he'd seen on PBS once.

He thought he saw a slight quirk to one corner of Castiel's lips before they were _there_.

Dean gasped, and there was air to breathe. Something felt solid beneath his feet, though all his eyes saw were infinite miles of cold, dark, sparkling space. Beneath, to both sides, and behind them spread billions of faraway stars. Before them, lay a hole. 

This hole was never dug by any hands, nor would it ever be filled. It split space and time themselves, and it was eating all of existence right before Dean's eyes. It pulsed, this black funnel, and Dean watched in shock as matter spun into its vortex and vanished. The hole was monstrously large, massive, making no sound in the vacuum of space. Still, Dean's ears filled with a rushing noise the longer he stared.

Truth was, he couldn't look away.

Castiel was there beside him, but Dean couldn't see enough of him, just a flash of khaki there by his side. He couldn't focus on his periphery when he couldn't even move his eyes, and he simply could not look away from the tunneling force before him. Somewhere in his mind, Dean knew Cas had this under control -- 

Yep, nope. Not good enough. He could _feel_ the pull of the black hole, that ineffable space graveyard where everything and nothing existed at once. Dean remembered that PBS special, vaguely, but didn't remember if they'd said what to do if you got caught hanging in front of one. A deep, gnawing ache manifested in his gut, the first stages of panic – the way he felt on any airplane, ever – and then for the first time since Lucifer, that feeling twisted, dug in, and Dean Winchester felt real fear.

It was a slice of red and white, a jagged cut and a bolt of lighting, that struck amid so much black.

Dean willed his body to run, but it wouldn't respond, suspended in the non-air, beside an angel who apparently couldn't sense his friend's distress. Inanimate, he was working himself into a mental frenzy, trying to escape the very thing he'd asked for.

He'd been so wrong. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He was babbling without sound, because there was no sound in space, _oh god please if you take me back I’ll eat vegetables never prank Sammy again I'll stop teasing Castiel please please take me back please..._

Dean's eyes were starting to roll back into his head, his whole body shaking, when the motel room reformed around them in a rush of badly-upholstered deliverance. His knees buckled, but Castiel caught him up in iron arms, helping him to the edge of a bed where he collapsed in relief. Dean was laughing; he let out great hysterical peals til his eyes were streaming, his lungs sucking in thick breaths of actual air. The laugh petered into a raspy, shaky thing. It disturbed him just a little, but he couldn't make it stop.

"Cas, you --" Oh, great. Hiccups. "Holy _fuck_."

"Are you all right, Dean?" The angel hovered, hands poised as though he wanted to lay them on Dean and heal him, but couldn't see the injury. Dean's manic laughter petered out, and he lay back on the bed, hiccuping weakly. "I'm (hic) fine, dude," he sighed up at the ceiling. "Next time how 'bout (hic) we keep it a little closer to (hic) home."

"Of course," said the angel. Everything was fine.

Then: "Dean."

Dean lifted his head blearily. "Whazzhuh?"

"Would you like me to clean you up?"

"Clean (hic) me, whaddayou --" Dean shifted up on one elbow to look at Castiel, and quickly realized that while he may have been some big bad monster killer on solid ground, deep sucking space holes made him soil himself. Fucking disgusting. His eyes burned, welled, overflowed, his gaze dropping to the ugly burnt-pumpkin carpet. "You shouldn't have to ask," Dean said hoarsely, words catching in all the shame coating his throat.

At least his fucking hiccups were gone? He couldn't even decide if that was good enough.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Castiel said before he could be interrupted. "I thought you would enjoy the sight." Dean forced himself to make eye contact and was floored by the amount of earnest remorse pouring from those eyes. The angel bent, reached, and Dean was clean, left with nothing but clothes, and shame, and the tickle of Castiel's fingers trailing from his arm. 

_I was stupid, Cas, don't let me be that stupid again_. "It's all good," he said shakily, standing. The carpet beneath his feet felt real, and he was immensely grateful for that. "So, uh, where to?" 

It wasn't til Castiel fixed him with a surprised stare that Dean realized he probably needed to wipe his face off. He did so with the front of his shirt, dragging through tears and snot, not sure what expression he wore when the cloth fell away. Castiel was standing closer, one pale hand outstretched, fingers twitching. He looked vaguely terrified.

Dean saw the angel's resolve slam back down seconds before that hand moved closer, two fingers to skin.

Spring grass tickled his toes, but Dean was falling to his knees, mouth working soundlessly. His eyes were trained across the street and the sight they beheld was just as magnetic as had been that black hole.

This was another kind of hole in space and time, one Dean had closed off, more unwilling than unable to face what lay within.

Across a well-kept suburban street, a very familiar yellow house stood as yet untouched by flame or misery. On the front lawn, a dark-haired man pushed a mower, back bunching beneath a shirt that even from this distance Dean could see bore Led Zeppelin's Icarus. The growl of the mower sang a duet with raucous insect calls.

Then the front door of the house opened, and a woman stepped out, all blonde and smiles. She was very pregnant, and when she stopped on the porch, turned and looked back, Dean sucked in a breath. There was a boy, maybe four years old, carrying a tray of full lemonade glasses with such determined concentration that the woman bit back a laugh. The boy slid his tray on to a small table outside, and looked up at his mother, beaming. 

Dean looked away as Mary Winchester drew his four-year-old self close, and kissed his dirty-blond hair.

 _"A little closer to home,"_ he'd said. Why must angels be so goddamned literal?

Across the street, John let the mower die, joining his wife and son for a refreshing drink. Dean remembered this, albeit vaguely, and it was metaphysical to the point of nausea seeing it from a stranger's perspective. 

His chest felt too tight. "Cas," he rasped, "can they see us?"

"No." Dean's heart plummeted. He didn't know why he'd hoped -- what would he say? His parents would have -- his parents.

A now-familiar burning; he had to close his eyes.

"Would you like to go closer?" Castiel asked quietly, one hand coming to rest gently on Dean's arm. Dean wasn't prey anymore, but he was a wild animal, to be coaxed lest he snap and bite. "Closer...?" he choked out. "Cas, I --"

Across the street, Mary's laughter rang out in bright peals. Dean remembered this. He watched John tickle his four-year-old self ruthlessly and he could feel those strong fingers digging into his ribs. 

He clutched at khaki fabric. "Take me back," he whispered, before more tears could fall.

The motel room was both welcome and the last fucking thing he ever wanted to see. He was angry, but not at Castiel -- at this life, these things they hunted, the bumps in the night that had steadily taken every goddamn thing he ever loved. Dean, still kneeling, heaved in and out a huge shuddering breath.

"I can't take this," spilled from his mouth before he could stop it. "I'm sorry, Cas, I just can't."

"Dean." Castiel knelt before him, pale hands resting on his forearms. Dean's hands were clenched in fists, but the angel's presence, his touch was soothing. Eventually, he felt nothing but calm.

Usually he hated being whammied, but right then he was just relieved.

When he stood, Castiel let him do it under his own power. The angel looked worn, run down, and just this side of defeated. "I will leave," he said heavily. "Please accept my sincerest --"

"No, Cas," Dean interrupted, his voice a little too thick for his throat. _I'm sorry, Cas, so sorry. I'm such a fuck-up_. He willed the angel to draw the sentiment from his eyes, since he didn't think he could say it aloud. _Shit, I'm a head case_. He chuckled darkly, couldn't hold it in. "Why do you put up with me?" he asked, despondent and pretty much rhetorical. 

Castiel's face didn't even twitch, but his eyes grew darker, and a trickle of his power made them shine. "Dean Winchester," he began severely, but Dean must have had a death wish for he was waving his hand, disregarding whatever the angel -- _a goddamn angel, dude, he could kill you with a thought_ \-- had to say. 

"You've said it before." Dean screwed up his mouth like the words were the sourest lemon salt. "Righteous Man, savior of the world, you rebelled for me. I get it. But Cas, the Apocalypse is _over_ \--"

"Do you wish me to leave?" The words were quiet, but the windows rattled, and Dean wisely backtracked. "No!" he said hastily, hands up and waving. "No, Cas, I like havin' you around," _god, fuck, I do_ , "but I am such a goddamn screw-up." One of his hands ran through his hair. "There's just gotta be better expenditures of your energy."

 _Bookworm brother's rubbing off on you_ , he accused himself, before he got distracted by the sudden pink flush on Castiel's pale cheeks. "Do not blaspheme, Dean," the angel said quietly, more a token protest than anything.

Dean smiled, hoping it didn't feel as empty as he did, hoping it didn't show Cas how that little flush affected him. "You gotta see I'm a lost cause," he said, just as quietly, stepping closer for no good reason.

Determination rippled suddenly across the angel's face, and his eyes flared with that tiny spark of power again. "Once more, Dean," he said with conviction. "Once more, so that I may give you what you give to me."

His fingers were poised above Dean's skin when Dean finally found the breath to ask him, "What do I --?"

And then they were there. "So many things," Castiel said. His fingers found Dean's and entwined, and Dean clutched back. He was looking straight up, mouth open, eyes wide, just drinking in the sight.

Above them spread the aurora borealis, all the stark glory only found in the furthest reaches of the north. Colors spun and twisted, dipped and shone, the sky a canvas for the most epic living painting ever to exist. The cold should have been bone-shattering -- but thanks, he supposed, to angel mojo Dean only felt enough of it for the occasional shiver. He was intently focused on the shifting hues, the scintillating movement, a woven airy cloth cast infinite across the darkened sky.

"Cas..." he breathed, squeezed the angel's hand tighter, overwhelmed but in a good way. "This is beautiful."

"Do you feel that?" Castiel asked quietly. His other hand rested lightly on Dean's chest, above his heart. At some point the angel had come to stand in front of him; Dean had been looking up so long his neck felt stiff. When he brought his gaze to bear on Castiel, he realized two things: the angel was incredibly close, and Dean had never seen that expression on that face.

Three things. Now, Castiel warred with the sky above in terms of beauty.

"Feel... what?"

"Happiness," the angel murmured. "Joy. Love. These are the gifts my Father has given to all his children, the ability to feel these things and know that they are good."

Those blue eyes were so close. "Cas, I..."

Castiel took another step forward, his pupils dilating, and Dean panicked. He tore from the angel's grasp and stood a ways apart --

 _Shit_ , it's cold.

Not touching Cas was a bad fucking idea. Whatever mojo keeping his body temp regulated was severely diminished, if not entirely negated, when Dean broke contact. He was barefoot, in just a t shirt and jeans, and he was in the North fucking Pole. His lips and toes and eyes went numb almost instantly.

Once more, Castiel didn't seem to notice Dean's discomfort, turning away with pale fingers clenched into fists.

A thought struck through the chill: if he hadn't known, why then had he been holding Dean's hand?

Oh, fuck it. _Cold_.

"Cas -- Cas!" Dean lunged and caught his khaki sleeve. Warmth flooded him, and he sighed in relief. Castiel rounded on him, eyes ablaze, coat flapping in the chill wind. It was then that Dean realized the angel's breath, when he took one, didn't fog in the northern air. He drew a deep breath himself, watching it billow across the space between them. "Cas, don't go."

"I have given you everything," snapped Castiel. His wings crackled briefly behind him, then again, a clear sign of his agitation. His eyes began to fluoresce. "Tell me, Dean, what more can I give to you that can be purely for you?"

"No, Cas, that's not --" Dean was still holding the angel's sleeve. He let it drop and shoved his hands in his pockets. He could handle a little cold, right?

It was then that he realized: he'd die for this scruffy bastard. He'd stand there and freeze. He really would -- and that meant just one thing, something he'd been trying to deny since sometime around the Green Room, when Castiel used his own blood to give Dean a chance...

He smiled in the face of the angel's wrath, and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. "This is supposed to be about me givin' you something," he said, voice pouring honeyed gruff into the air on clouds of steam. "Close your eyes."

Suspicious, Castiel did so, but when Dean stepped closer they flew open. The hunter chuckled, determined not to let on that he was just so fucking cold. "Close 'em tight."

"Dean --"

He had to be firm. "Now, Cas," Dean said, and with a furrowed brow the angel complied.

A little gasp of cold air sliced in when Dean pressed their lips together, but all he could feel was _warm_.

This -- was not like kissing a girl. Castiel's lips were electric, soft and hot and otherworldly beneath Dean's. This wasn't even like kissing any human, Dean reconciled, sliding a hand to cup Castiel's frigid stubble. The cheek beneath it was warm, and Castiel leaned into the caress, effectively tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Dean moaned, he couldn't help it, especially not when the angel's tongue was the first to test the boundaries of their lips.

With a deep-seated groan, Dean let him in.

Castiel licked in enthusiastically, making up for his lack of experience by pulling Dean close and grinding his hips on Dean's, smooth and dirty. Dean slid his hand around beneath the trench coat to grasp Castiel's ass through his slacks, drinking down the angel's happy moan. Their tongues tangled slick, lips catching, and Dean's eyes had slipped closed, but when the kiss was broken and he pulled away panting, somehow he knew that Castiel's had never closed.

"People don't usually stare during kisses, Cas," he teased. The angel regarded him archly. "Why wouldn't they?" He dipped in to kiss Dean chastely, and somehow that was much more intimate than their game of tonsil hockey. Dean's cheeks grew hot beneath Castiel's regard, and he had to drop his gaze. "They just... it's awkward," he mumbled.

When Castiel leaned in, though, Dean looked back up, caught his eyes and held them.

This kiss was intense, their breaths erratic, arms encircling and grasping tight. Hands roamed over necks, backs and waists, and all the while their lips and tongues danced. Dean could see the angel's pupils blowing wide, and knew his own were doing the same -- he caught hold of Castiel's tongue and sucked it, hard, and watched those blue eyes flutter closed.

He chuckled low, and broke the kiss -- only to latch on to one pale earlobe. Castiel gasped, keened, clutched at Dean. His hips worked jerkily, seeking friction that Dean was only too happy to give. "Dean," the angel gasped, " _Dean!_ " when the hunter nipped and suckled his way down that neck to bite just above the shirt collar.

"Cas..." Dean purred, working Castiel's shirt loose, then sliding his hands all over the warm skin beneath. "Do you have any idea --"

"I feel it -- oh, Dean," Castiel moaned. "You're amazing..." He let out a sharp _ah!_ of heated surprise when Dean tweaked one of his nipples. Dean grinned like a wolf to feel the little nub harden in his grasp.

Castiel pulled back, out of Dean's grasp, and started to shed his trench coat -- then stopped, seeing Dean drop to his knees in subzero snow. It had gotten much colder, Dean hadn't known it was possible -- and it slammed into him, through him, sent his body into shock. His arms hung useless at his sides, all of his organs screaming and beginning to shut down. Frost formed on his eyelashes as his eyes slipped closed, mouth open and collecting its own sheen of ice.

“ _Dean!_ ” The angel shook him awake, warmth flooding back the minute those hands met his shoulders. Castiel had knelt before him in the snow and was clasping him tight enough to bruise. The moment their eyes met, Cas hauled him in for a desperate kiss. "I saw -- I could see -- you were dying, Dean, you can't --" the angel babbled. Dean had never seen him so distraught. He tried to stroke one stubbled cheek with the back of a hand, but now that he was warming back up he was wracked with violent shivers. Dean pitched forward, further into Castiel's embrace, and the angel flopped sideways into a horizontal, cuddling position at the same time they reappeared in the Connecticut motel room.

Dean had never been so happy to smell stale air, or see a riot of nauseatingly colored furnishings. He sighed happily, and may have mumbled, "This is all I need," as his shocked body forced him into healing unconsciousness.

He woke some time later, in the dark, one of his legs shoved between Castiel's. The angel was making little wanton noises and couldn't seem to stop twitching his hips into Dean's thigh. "Cas?" he said groggily, though he knew very well who it was.

"Too hot, Dean," Castiel whined pitifully. "I'm -- you're so -- _ungh_ ," he grunted, his sizable erection swelling further against Dean's skin. His hands skated with no clear directive over every inch of the hunter's body, tweaking his nipples as Dean had shown him earlier. He seemed to like it when Dean hissed, and even brought his lips and tongue to bear, teasing the little nubs into hardened points.

They were both naked. Dean had missed this development. His cock hadn't, though, as it was rock hard and tenting even the heavy comforter. A wet spot was growing larger on the scratchy fabric, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to roll on his side and draw Castiel further between his legs, knocking their cocks together with a decisive rut. They both gasped -- Castiel in wonder, Dean in unadulterated heat.

Fuck, he wanted Castiel badly, and better make that _now_.

"Cas," he groaned. The angel had gotten the hang of dry humping pretty damn quickly, crying out every time he bucked his hips. More than once he tried to catch Dean in a kiss, but all the new sensations proved too much for him -- when Dean finally held him still and licked forcefully into his mouth, Castiel squealed, seized, and came in thick pulses that soaked the sheets between them.

Dean kissed him slowly down from his high, shivering every time Castiel's cock twitched and blurted a little more. " _Dean..._ " the angel shuddered out, completely wrecked. And they were barely getting started.

"Roll on your back," Dean demanded gently, helping Castiel make some sense of his tangled, leaden limbs. Before Cas could ask why, or even say anything at all, Dean slid down the length of his body and gazed unabashedly at his cock, which was still half-hard and already filling beneath the weight of his gaze. "Dean?" the angel asked shakily, but Dean had no more words -- just hot lips and a skillful tongue, putting all his knowledge of how to please a woman into this new business of sucking an angel's cock.

If Castiel's sharp cries were anything to go by, he was doing a damn good job.

Dean tasted Castiel, the heavy salt tang of his spill, the fullness of him on Dean's tongue as the organ twitched and filled. Silken steel slid toward his throat, but Dean didn't know if he was ready to try taking the whole thing. He compensated with his fist around the base few inches and Castiel seemed to love that.

It wasn't until that voice like a gravel road at midnight cracked on an upward shriek that Dean's hips slammed down and his dick woke up in earnest; he wedged his free hand between himself and the bed, and grasped his flesh with a groan that vibrated through Castiel's cock and echoed out from the angel's throat. Dean groaned again, needy, and Castiel clutched at his hair, his shoulders. "Dean!"

The hunter pulled off, still jacking Castiel steadily through his fist. Even in the darkness he could see the high color on his angel's cheeks, the way he'd bitten his lip til it was red and swollen. Lithe fingers made claws in the bedclothes. "Yeah, Cas?" Dean teased.

"I -- I want --"

"Yeah?" Dean couldn't resist interrupting. "What do you want?"

"Dean," Castiel keened crossly, "I want _you_."

"You've got me," Dean replied in that same teasing tone, not slowing the motion of his hand. 

"No -- Dean, _stop that_ , I can't think." Dean just grinned and kept stroking, until Castiel huffed at him and disappeared, draping over him from behind with that steel erection pressing into Dean's back. "I want you inside me," Castiel husked in the hunter's ear, and Dean suffered a full-body shudder that almost threw the angel off. "W-what?" he squeaked, the hand he still had on his own cock now clamping the base. In truth, Castiel saying that so matter-of-factly may have been the hottest thing that Dean had ever heard. 

"You heard me," came the growled reply, Castiel sliding from his perch and situating himself on his back in front of Dean, legs spread with abandon. Dean had done this to women before -- and himself, a few drunken, lonely times -- but he'd never had it done to him, and he'd never fucked a guy. "I don't think --"

The angel sat up just far enough to place a finger on Dean's lips. "You can't hurt me," he reassured. "I want this. You. Everything you can give me."

"Yeah..." Dean murmured, taking in the expanse of ivory akin before him. "Yeah," he repeated with more confidence, shifting forward, stroking up the body that housed that most powerful being, the one he --

His hands faltered. Too much, too soon. Just -- focus, Dean. Give him what he deserves. Heaven and Hell fucking know you want it, too.

Dean nodded, mostly to himself, shifted even closer. Then he rocked back and laughed. Castiel cocked his head in confusion, rustle and a shift of shadows. "Lube," Dean managed to say, "we don't have any --" So quickly he thought he might have dreamed it, Cas was gone and then back, clutching a plastic package. Dean blinked. "Where did you go?"

"A store," Cas said evasively. He ripped the plastic open effortlessly and popped the bottle's top.

Dean wasn't done. "A store?" he repeated. "Butt naked?"

"No one was there," Castiel said defensively. "The store was closed."

"But there were cameras -- Cas, your naked ass is on ta--" Wink out and in, a glare marring the angel's face. "I destroyed the equipment," he said testily. "Now will you fuck me, please?"

 _Wow_. Dean lubed up a finger and drizzled some on the angel's exposed hole, chuckling at his hiss. "Didn't know you'd be so hungry for it, damn," the hunter said fondly, teasing the slick rim with the lightest of fingertip touches. Castiel keened and rocked his hips into the touch. "More, Dean, _please_ \-- you cannot hurt me. I _want_ this," he cried, clutching his ankles and drawing his legs even wider.

Saliva filled Dean's mouth at the sight and he had to gulp, or drool all over Cas. "God _damn_ ," he whispered, sliding one finger in to the hilt, and with a drawn-out satisfied groan the angel took it, hips working for more. "Dean, _Dean_ ," he whimpered, "you make me crazy, Dean." Dean groaned, loud and long as he fucked that finger in and out, adding two more on a whim and doubling over when Castiel arched his back and shrieked. "Fuck, Cas," he choked, "look at you, taking it all so good..."

"So good, so good, Dean," the angel sobbed. Dean was ramming his fingers in, no patience for finesse, stretching on every outward slide and stroking the prostate when he delved deep enough. Castiel writhed beneath him, a wild thing, his inner walls clenching around Dean's fingers so tightly he hazily wondered if they might break. _Fuck it._ He pulled his hand out, Castiel arching and yowling at the sudden evacuation. Dean slicked himself with his dirty hand, not enough air in the room, and when he sheathed himself in the angel's body they both cried out together. " _So -- fucking – tight_ ," Dean grated out, the angel an atom-bomb explosion clenching around him, suffocating pleasure. It felt like dying, without the pain -- like being reborn, and held aloft to meet the sun.

 _Glorious_. "Everything you are is glorious," Dean said, insensate, drawing out on the spider silk line of Castiel's thready keen -- and then he fucked back in, all the lights sparked and blew, and somewhere a siren began to rage. "Dean!" the angel cried, clutching him everywhere he could reach. " _Harder,_ ” he quavered, high and thin. Dean coiled his body around his angel, and snapped his hips with purpose.

Castiel screamed. The TV came on, flipping channels wildly before it over-surged and blew. Sheathed in Castiel's sucking heat, Dean had lost and found himself, every stroke a godsend that skated over the angel's prostate, every one of Castiel's cries a benediction that jolted up and down Dean's spine. 

They may have fucked for hours, Dean didn't know, he lost himself in the jarring, sweet sweaty slide of flesh, inside and out. He pounded Castiel up and down that bed, the angel's arms above his head and clutching at the headboard, said board banging furrows into the wall. Castiel had begun with his legs around Dean's ribs, but now he was folded nearly in half, sobbing, tossing his dripping head on sheets long ago soaked through beneath them.

Clench, clench again, blunt nails dragging up Dean's back, and he was on the edge of the precipice, orgasm curling in his toes. "Cas, _Cas_ ," he panted, mindless, " _fuck_ , I'm close," and Castiel yanked him down, himself up, their foreheads and gazes striking in the middle. "Righteous Man," the angel growled, "you have completed me."

His eyes flared blue, his head fell back, and an unearthly whine began to build around them. "Cas," Dean sobbed, so close, so close, "you're gonna kill me, Cas, I can't --"

"You can, Dean," Castiel said, eyes painting the room in electric blue -- his whole body seized, beneath and around Dean -- and Dean flew off the edge of that cliff, torquing his hips and burying himself in the angel as he shook, snarled, latched his teeth on and bit --

He came in pulses so thick they hurt, Castiel clamped on his dick like a vise, Dean shoved so far in the angel's body he felt as one with him.

The whine was still building. Dean was coming down, but Castiel had started shaking. His wings flickered, filled the room to either side, black and intangible. "Cas," Dean began, dazed but concerned, but the angel whispered, "Close your eyes."

No sooner had Dean done so -- flopping forward so he could plug his ears as well -- did Castiel jerk, tense, and the entire room flooded with the whitest light and an unearthly influx of sound. Dean felt the body below him shaking, spurting come between them, but the angel's orgasm was pure power, and even when that light faded Dean could still see it. It -- _Castiel_ \-- was beautiful.

They lay in the dark, still entwined, breathing heavily even though only one of them needed it. Dean, without lifting his cheek from Castiel's chest, found the angel's face and brushed away errant, sweaty hairs. Then the angel shifted, clenched just as Dean's dick twitched, and it was too much. He drew out with a long, satiated hiss.

He wasn't interested in cleaning up, though, or leaving the safety of Castiel's arms. His ears still rang, although he'd plugged them, and when his lover finally spoke he felt it more than heard.

It still made him laugh, though:

"Merry Christmas, Dean," the angel sighed. 

*FIN


End file.
